


[Date redacted], from the Secret Diary of Tim Gunn

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Project Runway (US) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim reflects on a day at the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[Date redacted], from the Secret Diary of Tim Gunn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hangingfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangingfire/gifts).



Early summer, 2008

Dear Diary –

Nina Garcia returned to the show today. THANK. GOD. The judging this season has been pitiful, and it does my heart good to know that our competitors will now be carved into the tiniest shreds of pure damask by Our Lady of the Hair. We are still short one Michael Kors – perhaps a critical shortage of self-tanner keeps him East, for we know he cannot fly without a carry-on of orange foundation. I am seriously considering an intervention, on behalf of his dry-cleaning service as much as for myself. A+ on your collections, Michael, C- on self-grooming. Heavens above.

Los Angeles continues to not be New York, and I continue to not understand why production was moved here. I blame the prurient influence of our location on the quality of designs this season, which have all the flair of the work created when deranged raccoons are set upon polyester fabric (a print, naturally), with pinking shears and a fearsome conviction that the end is nigh. It proves hard to give advice to young designers when they believe hemming is optional and that the female figure is just _panting_ to be improved upon with shoulder pads and pleats at the hip. 'Make it work' can only go so far. I need a supportive way to say 'burn this in the fires of hell, for all our sakes, please, god, now.'

Heidi and I enjoyed a spa day yesterday – I went with the full-body exfoliating sea-salt treatment, she with the hot stone massage and pedicure. We enjoyed a lunch of cucumber sandwiches, piping hot tea, and a perfectly chilled martini, before both of us indulged in a spot of waxing here and there. I love Heidi _tremendously_, not least for her inside scoop on Victoria's Secret's fall line. I predict the spangle thong will be a barn-burner among the starlet set, and shall take appropriate measures to preserve my sanity while the trend lasts – dark glasses, extra ibuprofen, a long vacation at the Florida Keys, perhaps.

And now I turn in, a rousing edition of 'All Things Considered' on my iPod, a chaser of Lady Gaga in place should that fail to put me to sleep. Tomorrow I must chaperone the competitors to 'Mood' once more, a task made more palatable by the owner's assurance that they are hiding all the sequined fabrics before we arrive.

Bonsoir, diary, bonsoir.  
Tim


End file.
